Feral Mustang
by Sresian
Summary: This was co-written with Sarah Liz, my friend from We both write a little and attribute to the general idea of this story. Roy needs to get his body back, Al needs to find Scar, and Ed needs his Father.
1. Teaser

Author's Note: This was co-written with Sarah Liz, my friend from We both write a little and attribute to the general idea of this story. This is the teaser that can also be found on Livejournal. If you wish to know more, feel free to leave a comment. Mind you, if you're reading this, we'd love to hear ANY comments you have on the story. Enjoy the story.

"H-hey. Hey, Colonel?" Edward hesitated, then unlatched the thick steel door and pushed it open, just wide enough to look into the stall beyond and confirm that what he saw was real.

The occupant of the stall didn't respond. He lay there, with his legs tucked under him. All _four_ of his legs. Ed felt his stomach clench and threaten to reveal all of what he'd eaten that day (which wasn't much). _Chimera_. Dread became a reality that flinched a little as Ed threw the stall door open hard enough to make it bounce back halfway along its track.

What remained of Roy Mustang's human body had been ill-used. Ugly bruises marked him from hairline to waist, standing out against skin that was tinged a frightening pale gray. Someone had bound a dirty rag tight across his eyes, and it had stayed there, because Mustang's hands were shackled behind his back, gloveless and swollen with chafing against the steel cuffs. The only remaining piece of his uniform was the pair of steel tags that hung on their chain around his neck--the military's ownership tags. Mustang wasn't an outrage to human modesty, though. Just below his human navel, human skin first mottled, then darkened to a uniform black and vanished beneath a coat of short black hair. Below that...was the body of a horse. Something of his country-boy childhood surfaced in Edward just long enough to comment that the horse must have been a draft breed, to have legs that long and feet that big. The animal's neck had merged into the man's back, binding thick muscle to the small of his back and around where his hips should have been. The horse's mane now sprang from roughly the midpoint of a human back, and continued down to fall over a coat of black and white patches. All four legs were hobbled, the rear ones with a chain that ran to the back wall of the stall, keeping the captive chimera from escaping even when the door was open.

"_Shit._" It was the only word that came to mind. Edward stepped into the stall, feeling himself trembling and trying not to let it show in his voice. "A-all right, Colonel, just stay calm. We're here to get you out. It's gonna be okay, you're gonna be fine."

He was talking more to reassure himself than the filthy, abused prisoner, who didn't respond. The scientist in Edward automatically added up some facts, and came up with a hypothesis. _Making chimeras isn't an exact science. The madman who did this couldn't have known whether the chimera would have the Colonel's soul...or the horse's._ As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Ed heartily wished he wasn't an alchemical genius. If Roy Mustang's soul was gone, there was nothing he could do to get it back. He'd learned that the hard way. The best thing he could do for the poor animal, if it _was_ an animal, was to find a major vein and cut it, and end the creature's suffering.

The FullMetal Alchemist gathered up his nerve, and reached to fumble with the knot of the blindfold. The human torso tensed at the touch, and equine muscles bunched, ready to propel that big body to its feet and take the bruised human face out of reach. Ed, unthinking, put his steel right hand on the Colonel's shoulder. "Shhh. Easy. I'm not trying to hurt you."

Human or equine, the creature relaxed a fraction, and kept still long enough for the rag to loosen under Ed's hands. He dropped the blindfold in disgust and looked into the bloodshot dark eyes that blinked in the sudden light, trying to see a man in that glassy, detached stare. "Colonel? Come on—you understand me, right? Hold still, I'm gonna get the cuffs off." Ed took a deep breath, steadied himself. Drew the array he wanted in his mind, placing every line and rune with exacting precision. _Sloppy array, sloppy alchemy,_ the voice of his teacher intoned in Ed's mind, and the _last_ thing Ed wanted right now was for the energy to slip his control and perhaps break Mustang's wrists. The FullMetal Alchemist checked the array glowing in his mind, then clapped his hands. The steel of the cuffs first cracked, then fell into dust as it oxidized. Mustang's hands fell nervelessly down his sides and hung there as though they weren't connected to the Colonel's nervous system. _Maybe they aren't._ Ed snatched up one of those limp, swollen hands and started rubbing it, working his fingers into the palm and along the fingers.

Mustang continued to stare at him, his brows pulling together a little as though not sure what to make of him. Even lying down, with his long legs tucked up, Mustang was a good three inches taller than Edward. That kind of thing didn't gall Ed as much as it had when he was younger and had yet to reach five feet at sixteen, but he still noticed it when people had to look down to meet his eyes. Ed found himself babbling.

"You can feel this, right? It probably hurts a little, doesn't it? You've just got to get the circulation back, that's all. You're gonna be fine. Fine, you hear me? Come on, aren't you gonna say anything? Even some stupid comment about me being short? I might even let you get away with it this time."

Mustang stopped the words tumbling from Ed's mouth by lifting the arm the younger man held, tugging experimentally. When Ed let go, gave him his freedom, Mustang flexed his shoulders, slowly. Grimaced and raised his left hand toward his eyes. Stared at it without expression for a long moment, then slowly—very slowly—reached toward Edward's face. Ed felt his eyes going wide and the hair on the back of his neck prickling, but he forced himself to stand still and wait. The back of Mustang's hand brushed Ed's cheek, then dropped rather heavily onto his right shoulder. Mustang's fingers weren't working very well, but they pushed at the material of Ed's collar, seeking to pull it away. The look on the colonel's face was guarded, but there was a silent plea beneath the dirt and the bruises.

Ed read the gesture for what it was. "You're not sure of who I am," he said, watching for confirmation in those weary dark eyes. "You want me to prove it." Ed didn't like it. But he'd done a lot of things he didn't like in his life, and this one at least probably wouldn't be painful, just uncomfortable. He sighed a little, but reached up and carefully unfastened the top buttons of his shirt. Using his left hand, he pushed the stained fabric back along his shoulder, revealing the steel tongue that reached out from his automail port to the bolt screwed into his collarbone. "Okay? Now can you believe it's really me?"

Mustang's hand pushed the fabric back still further, found first the old surgical scars, then the edge of the automail port. He sucked in a deep breath, closed his eyes and shuddered once, hard, then opened his eyes again and said one hoarse, barely-believing word. _"FullMetal"._

It had been a few days since Edward had found the colonel in the stable like that. It still left Ed restless in the night. He'd always thought of the colonel as a bastard, true, but he'd been a strong bastard. And even when the man couldn't protect himself (like in the rain), Lieutenant Hawkeye or one of the other members of his staff were there to take care of him.

But they'd been separated, Maes had told him. It had been a mission for Roy as an alchemist. They needed him in particular because they'd needed his thoughts on the new anesthetic that would help lung-damaged patients breath easier. But when they'd gotten there, Hawkeye had been held up at the front desk because they didn't want Black Hayate into the building, and the dog was on special medicine, so she couldn't leave him at home.

Hughes had been arranged to be the last-minute sub for the military courier who was supposed to carry the locked briefcase, was on his way to pick up his son (who looked like he had the measles), when he was caught in a car wreck. But while in the building, was distracted when someone had asked how Elysia was doing.

Somehow, while both officers were distracted, Mustang was kidnapped. And Maes had rushed to where Ed and Al were staying, the only alchemists he could trust, when he'd heard of what had happened to get them to help in retrieving the newly made chimera.

It saddened Ed that one of the strongest adult he'd ever met was in such need of support now. It wasn't that he wasn't prepared to help the colonel. He'd been a big supporter of Mustang in every attempt to raise his rank (which sadly hadn't happened yet). But, it seemed like Mustang was so broken now...

They had a lot to work to do.


	2. Chapter 1, 2, & 3

Author's Note: This was co-written with Sarah Liz, my friend from We both write a little and attribute to the general idea of this story. These are the first 3 chapters that can also be found on Livejournal. If you wish to know more, feel free to leave a comment. Mind you, if you're reading this, we'd love to hear ANY comments you have on the story. Enjoy the story.

Roy Mustang stood rigid in front of the frightened-looking men, fingers poised. Their fear was understandable, as there were two sharp pointed knives heading for their throats.

There was a loud snap, and then the deadly blades exploded into superheated shrapnel. Before Roy could move his charges to a safer location, three knives came at him, faster this time. They got within a foot of the men in blue uniforms before evaporating in a blast of heat.

Five knives. Five explosions. Ten. Twenty.

More explosions followed and the men behind him cowered. Roy couldn't focus on that, though. With every blink there were more airborne projectiles, with more space between them and each volley moving faster than the last. Now the air was full of deadly little missiles, all aimed at the dignitaries and military commanders the Flame Alchemist had been commanded to protect.

They just kept coming! Roy's fingers fell into a constant steady rhythm now, flames lancing out from his fingertips, the embroidered circles on the backs of his gloves aglow as blue alchemical lightning warred with white-hot fire that turned steel blades to droplets of iron that pattered onto the scorched ground like dull gray hailstones. Roy whirled in place, his uniform flying like the scarves of an Ionian street dancer while sheets of fire sprang from his white-gloved hands. Sweat glistened on his face as he brought his full power to bear and sent waves of fire rippling toward his attackers.

The oncoming fire paused and Roy took the moment to suck in several deep, panting breaths. But the instant he lowered his hands, the blue sky turned suddenly black with flying blades.

There was only one way to protect the officers behind him. Roy yanked in his will, focused all the strength he had into the embroidered arrays, felt the air grow thick in that instant before he snapped the fingers of both hands. A wall of white-hot flame shot up from the ground and reached fifty feet in height and nearly a hundred in length before it vanished, leaving only a shower of falling ash.

Applause broke out and Roy bowed. Fuhrer Bradley, one of the men who had been standing behind Roy, approached the colonel and put his large hard on the man's shoulder. When Colonel Mustang straightened, Bradley shifted his hand just slightly, so that one of his long (way too long for any real man) nails was pressed hard against Roy's jugular vein.

Roy forced a smile as he waved out to the cheering crowd while Bradley hushed them. They were far enough from the crowd that no one would notice the threat in the Fuhrer's "friendly" gesture.

As the crowd quieted, Bradley raised his voice to be heard throughout the large area. "A fine performance. I'm sure I'm not the only one here to take pride in the State Alchemists. Their loyalty to their commanding officers and Amestris is unsurpassed." A slight increase of the pressure on Roy's throat said clearly that Mustang had better remember just whose dog he was. "Congratulations on your re-certification, Flame Alchemist."

Roy turned slightly away from the man, enough to make Bradley relax his grip, lest others know what he'd truly been doing. "Thank you, Fuhrer. I more than fully accept my responsibility towards Amestris and its people." His bland face and neutral voice made it clear that he pledged his allegiance to no one man.

The Fuhrer's smile faded just a bit as he handed over Roy's silver pocket watch back to its' rightful owner. As Roy let his watch slip into his uniform pocket, he heard one of the generals he'd been ordered to protect speak up. "Colonel…do you think Fullmetal will re-certify this year?"

This was a common question these days, one Mustang was asked nearly every week. Every time, Mustang said no. Roy understood their fascination with the alchemist, but he couldn't say he shared it, knowing what he did of Edward Elric's past. Roy smiled at the general and answered, "I'm surprised, General. With Fullmetal's record of insubordination and talent for destruction, why would anyone want him to touch a State Alchemist's pocket watch again?"

"Are you saying you can't control your subordinates, Colonel?" the general almost purred.

"Not at all. I'm saying that Edward Elric isn't the kind of person who respects a uniform. You can't give him an order and expect him to salute and obey." Mustang let his brows angle a bit into a near-challenge. "He's going to demand to know your motives, and if he doesn't like your plans, he'll flip you off and do his best to make sure you fail."

"Some time under arrest would improve that attitude problem." General Takeda countered, taking a step closer to the colonel.

"You would think so, sir, but with all due respect, if you think that would work, you've never met Fullmetal. Besides, defending my orders to him forces me to consider why I'm giving them in the first place." Mustang held his ground, refusing to fall back as the taller, bulkier man loomed.

"It's not a lower officer's place to question his commanders," the general said in a low growl. "On the battlefield, there can be no arguing about who is in charge."

"True--but my goal is to prevent things from deteriorating to the point of needing a battlefield. If one of my people tells me there's a better way to reach that goal, I'm not going to waste time fussing about comparative rank. Sir."

Before the tacit fight for dominance could escalate further, Maes Hughes approached. "Oi! Roy! Gracia's offered to make you a congratulatory dinner." The man was similar to Roy in appearance. He had short black hair and a grin to match Roy's smirk. But Maes wore a small beard on his square jaw, and his sparkling emerald-green eyes were fully Amestrian. Roy's angular dark eyes and the curve of his jaw proclaimed a different ancestry.

With a small nod towards the group of top officers, Roy turned away to meet with his friend. "I haven't had a meal from Gracia in a while. She must be feeling generous today."

Maes let his smile slip away as he turned to his friend. "You need to be a bit more careful."

Roy sighed. He knew where the conversation was going, but he had hoped it would wait until after they'd eaten. Once they were out of earshot of their superior officers, he asked, "What have you heard about Takeda?"

"He's been slipping into the gaps Grumman left when he retired, and Hakuro isn't strong enough by himself to keep him off your back. You're short of defenders among the top brass, Roy."

"Are you suggesting I try to force Fullmetal to re-Certify?" Mustang asked in a deceptively mild tone.

"I'd rather not have to visit you in the hospital--but you've got to give them _something._ Let some files leak. Do a 'records audit' and turn up some 'misfiled documents'. Or actually stop a few of those raids on the supply depots."

"You know why I'm not going to do that." Mustang met his friend's green eyes with an uncompromising gaze.

"I_know_, Roy, but they're not all Ishbalans."

"No--some of them are from Lior."

"Dammit, they've ordered an investigation of Garnet Town!"

_That_ got Mustang's attention. "What? Why?"

"Why else? Your mother's there. There's no evidence, of course, but there's_speculation_ that she's part of a smuggling ring running restricted technology and documents out of the country." As Maes held open the door to Mustang's car for him, he gave his friend a look of deep concern, "And that's all they need to make an arrest. You know that."

"I know," he said as he slipped into the car. "I'll see what I can do." He would have to have a chat with his former subordinate.

The clocks in East City read seven AM. Most of the city was just waking up and beginning the daily bustle. Shop doors opened, street vendors started to ply their routes, and residents of the city flipped through their newspapers over breakfast. In a certain quiet residential neighborhood, First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye was unlocking her commanding officer's front door and sending her dog into his bedroom to wake him up.

The new recruits at the training compound beside Eastern Headquarters had been up for two hours. They'd suffered the rude awakening of reveille, followed by a session of derogatory comments by their commanders on the finer points of bed-making and boot-polishing. Then the drill sergeants had marched them to the mess hall for breakfast, marched them back to their barracks to clean the bathrooms, polish the windows, and mop the floors, then ordered them into their physical training uniforms—i.e., sweat suits. Two hundred sweat suit-clad bodies marched onto the still-bedewed grass of the parade ground, led by ten sergeants with ramrod-straight backs and faces that _dared_ anything to cross them. The recruits, most of who had only arrived in East City the day before, came to a puzzled halt when they spotted the lone figure in the center of the sprawling, neatly-clipped field.

To begin with, the slim figure was upside down. As incredulous eyes watched, the person on the exercise pad spread on the grass pushed up from a headstand to a handstand. He then slowly shifted his weight and lifted his left hand, stretching his legs into a neat Y shape. Unhurried, he set his left hand down and picked up the right. Silence fell, and stretched as the recruits watched the body on the mat twist and bend in slow, graceful motion. Finally, both hands went down to the mat, and the owner of them flexed his shoulders and tossed himself to his feet, letting a thick blond braid slap down between his shoulder blades as he did. Upright, he turned out to be a rather small man, not much over five feet tall. His air of casual confidence, however, made him seem larger than he was.

"Good morning," he said mildly, in a light tenor. "I'm Sergeant Major Edward Elric." He didn't seem to be working at it, but his voice carried to every set of ears on the parade ground. "Before anyone asks, yeah, I'm _that_ Edward Elric, and no, I'm not gonna do any stupid party tricks. My job is to teach you hand-to-hand combat techniques—eventually." He raked the wide-eyed recruits with an evaluating gaze. "Before I can teach you anything, though, you gotta learn how to stand." He strode over to a sturdy-looking young fellow, and without warning, gave him a sharp shove in the chest. The soldier dropped back a step, his face clearly offended.

"You had too much weight in your heels," the diminutive Sergeant Major told him in a matter-of-fact tone. "Now I'm gonna do the same thing again. Don't try to push me away, just set your feet so you won't have to step back."

The lesson moved on from the correct stance to warm-up and flexibility exercises that made the recruits wonder whether or not the Sergeant Major was entirely human. Edward Elric twisted and stretched with an easy grace that seemed more appropriate for a cat than a man. He also kicked _hard_, a fact not lost on those holding the practice pads for him.

"I hired you to _train_ my soldiers, Fullmetal, not to break them." Colonel Roy Mustang sounded more amused than upset.

"I haven't broken anything but a few illusions." Ed bounced back and forth, breathing a little hard but otherwise apparently none the worse for wear. "And quit calling me Fullmetal. Or did you forget my name again, old man?"

"I'm not likely to forget a name that showed up on so many of the damage reports that crossed my desk." Mustang strode easily across the parade ground with Hawkeye at his heels. He surveyed the ragged rows of panting, sweating recruits, and lifted an eyebrow. That was all the comment he needed to make. The sergeants started bellowing commands. Some of the recruits tried to straighten their clothing and rub away the worst of the sweat from their faces. Others did their best to approximate standing at attention. Still others attempted to salute. Mustang accepted the salutes as his due, and then said, "At ease, ladies and gentlemen."

"What brings you over here anyway? You didn't really come to check up on the new recruits, did you?" Edward had mellowed somewhat in the four years since he'd restored his brother. He could now get through an entire sentence without cursing, and occasionally forgot to insult Colonel Mustang.

"It's one of his tasks today." First Lieutenant Hawkeye stepped out a bit to speak to Edward. "Greeting the new recruits and supervising the beginning of their training." Her face was almost as bland as Mustang's could be.

"Yeah, right. You're just trying to wake him up."

"Do I look asleep to you, FullMetal?" Colonel Mustang frowned just a little bit.

"No—but you're putting on weight, sleeping so late. You can't hide that potbelly under your uniform jacket forever."

"As if I have time to eat. Unlike some people, I have an army to run."

"_I'm_ the one who runs them. Five laps around the base every morning, and five more at night. You should come try it sometime. You could use your breath for something besides talking people to death for once."

"Maybe I should. It_is _ my responsibility to make sure your training regimen is up to standards. You're known for your unorthodox methods, Fullmetal." Roy ignored the growl that emanated from the smaller man at the repetition of his State Alchemist name. "After all, these soldiers will be coming to me after you. I'd hate to think you're going easy on them." He smiled that smirk that still made Ed's blood boil.

"Listen, you, if all you've come here to do is criticize me…then you can just go shove…" He stopped as Riza coughed and indicated the newbies who were staring in apprehension as their trainer started to insult his commanding officer. After several long, drawn out breaths, Ed managed, "Colonel, if you'd like me to show you how I'm training them…"

Mustang put a finger to his chin, indicating that he was debating that very idea. "You know, that's a good idea."

"Then pick one of them out and I'll…" But he was cut off.

"Oh no. I don't want to see how _they _fight." Roy smiled and Riza sighed reproachfully, but took a few prudent steps out of the way. "They did just get started today."

Ed glowered at the man. "Are you sure you wanna get your uniform all dirty?"

"I'm positive, _Fullmetal_." Roy smiled again, making Ed's eyebrow twitch.

"Stop calling me that! You know I'm not certified anymore, you bastard!" His fists clenched, Ed glared across the ten feet that separated him from the man.

"Oh, I know." Roy shrugged, "But I was hoping you might reconsider." When Ed's eyes opened wide, Roy continued, "Let me offer you a wager. We'll have a sparring match. If I win, you reconsider. If you win, I'll never mention it again."

"Okay. I'm gonna kick your ass down, Mustang!" Ed grinned and he bounced towards the man, jumping high before meeting with a small flash of flame.

"You haven't let me finish, Sergeant." The Flame Alchemist went on smoothly. "This isn't a purely physical fight. You know as well as I do that I plan on using my alchemy. It wouldn't be fair not to let use yours."

"You bastard!" Ed cursed. It had been a long time since he'd mixed alchemy and violence. Not that he he'd let himself get out of practice, just that he didn't want to use that science as a weapon anymore.

"Remember who you're talking to!" The Flame Alchemist snapped and Ed jumped just out of the reach of the tickling fingers of the flame.

"This won't be like last time, Mustang. I know your tricks now." Ed growled as he clapped his hands and created a solid wall between himself and the other alchemist.

"Every dog can learn some new tricks." The wall exploded, and the rubble fell without reaching either the cadets on the right or the First Lieutenant on the left. "Let me show you some of mine." He grinned at the now exposed man.

"Well, shit." Ed grinned slightly before clapping and transmuting his arm into his famous broadsword.

Roy raised an eyebrow, let Edward close on him at a near-unnatural speed, then twitched aside in a whisper of fabric. "So my sources weren't exaggerating. You _have_ been working out," he said with a sharp snap of his fingers. The resulting gout of flame forced Edward to skip aside instead of kicking Mustang in the back.

"How else do you expect me to get these recruits in shape?" Ed demanded, catching himself in a low crouch. "I work just as hard or harder than they do—which is more than can be said for some people."

"I suppose you have to work harder just to keep up, since just about every recruit has longer legs than you do." Mustang grinned a little, then sent twin tracks of fire ripping across the grass toward Edward.

"You just can't help it, can you? You've _got_ to make a &$# stupid short joke." Ed threw himself forward into a forward midair somersault, and landed with his blade against Roy's throat. Only an instant later, Roy's gloved fingers brushed the end of Ed's braid, the striking surface at the base of his thumb rustling a little against the hair tie. Ed waivered for a moment and managed to nick Roy's skin, drawing just a drop of blood.

Before either of them could react, Mustang yelped and hit the ground butt-first. Hawkeye rose to her feet as though she hadn't just sweep-kicked her commanding officer in front of his troops. "This really isn't the time or place, sir."

Ed moved fast to take advantage of Mustang's vulnerable position. Unfortunately, Hawkeye anticipated him, and had her gun to his forehead before he could force the Colonel to yield.

"I think this demonstration is over, yes?" Hawkeye's tone was entirely reasonable.

Ed let the sweat drip from his face before he slowly nodded. He watched her put the pistol away and turn to give the colonel a hand up.

"You have other matters to attend to this morning, sir."

"Ah. Yes." Colonel Mustang stood up and turned towards Ed as he dabbed at the blood with a clean handkerchief, "You've lost some finesse, to draw blood like that. We'll finish this discussion later. Carry on."

Ed gave the man a short salute before returning to his amazed soldiers. In another hour, they'd be trudging back to their barracks, telling each other troop and everyone else who'd listen how they'd gotten to watch a rematch of Fullmetal versus Flame.

He glared at the human who dared to enter his stall, ears pulling back flat against his head. His nostrils flared as the stall door was closed behind the small man. Keeping his face forward so that he could keep an eye on the little human, he backed into the right corner again, keeping his back hoof safely out of the human's reach.

This was the tenth strange human. He's butted the first two against the walls and nipped their intruding hands. He'd kicked the next trio to arrive, despite the twitch on his nose and the restraint of the cross-ties. The last four had run away after several displays of bucking and squealing. He was starting to tire, but no human would touch the Hurt. That was all.

But this little man wasn't attempting to approach him. He stayed just inside the door, well away from the Hurt. Maybe this one wasn't going to try and touch? He let his ears come up from his head, still watching the man apprehensively.

He wasn't very big, even for a human. He'd begun to hum. It was a low, soft sound, soothing, even more so because he still had yet to approach him.

Then the human spoke, "Hello there." There was a soft smile on his face. "I know you're in pain right now, but I can't help you from over here. I promise not to touch anything but your neck…but you'll really have to let me come closer."

He'd heard the words, but didn't understand them. He kept his ears relaxed and angled forward until the human took a step towards him. His ears went flat against his head again, and his eyes rolled and showed their whites as his lips fluttered over his teeth. He'd kick this one too!

"Shhh…" The man whispered as he began to hum again. He stopped just before he could come within reach of the powerful colt's legs. A human hand reached out, deliberately and without hesitation, and slowly stroked his neck. "I won't do anything else. I won't touch anything else." The stroking and scratching continued, working down to an equine shoulder that twitched appreciatively. "I bet you hate that name they gave you. 'Lady' isn't really suited for a stallion." The human chuckled when the horse snorted.

"Would you mind giving me your real name?" the man asked quietly. His fingers steadied and stopped on the horse's chest, and colt felt something...strange. Not painful, not like the Hurt. It was...another presence in him. He immediately knew it was the strange humming human, and instinct squealed and reared back, thumping against the walls and lashing out at the intruder.

The man followed the motion, yielding easily, bending where others broke or fled. The humming sound never abated, and the colt's fear eased, until Lady's Warrior stood trembling and sweating, but still.

"Ah. So that's it? You're real name is 'Lady's Warrior'?" The human laughed, "That's a much better name…"

Of course it was. Human names seemed to be chosen by whim. Horses knew better. A name had to say something about who one was, what one smelled like. And_he_ was a warrior born.

"My name is Alphonse." Yes, it would be. A silly human name with no meaning at all. "I'm going to help with your leg, okay? But I won't touch it." He felt the presence again. This time he could feel it taking over a bit of his mind, but he couldn't really stop it from doing it, nor did he really feel like he needed to. He settled into a near-doze, head drooping a little, eyes drifting shut.

As humans counted time, it was 30 minutes before the human named Alphonse stepped away, sweaty and looking extremely tired. But, when Lady's Warrior attempted to set his left rear hoof down again, it didn't hurt. It still felt weak, but it no longer hurt. Somehow, this Alphonse had helped him. He wouldn't forget it. The colt rumbled an appreciative murmur in his chest, and nibbled delicately along the human's shoulder, returning the favor with a little friendly grooming. He would remember this one's scent, and the sound of his humming.

Alphonse always attempted to sneak by his elder brother any day he worked hard. Ed had the annoying habit of thinking that Al pushed himself way too hard whenever he came home looking the way he did now. And it really wasn't that he'd push himself, honestly, but his soul was always so weary after any transmutation. And the longer his soul-bits were free, the wearier it made him look. Unfortunately, Al almost never managed to get by his brother without getting caught.

"Al! You did it again, didn't you?!" Ed demanded the moment he was in the door of their small house on the edge of the city. "You overdid it!"

"Brother…it's not that bad." Al tried as he was ushered into the den and into a deep chair reserved only for days when Al or Ed had been worn down. "It was more the people I had to deal with today than anything else that wore me down…"

"What happened?" Suddenly there was a small fire going in the fireplace.

"Well, there was this colt. Barely two years old and something in his left rear fetlock joint had slipped. But the little stallion wouldn't let anyone near him! He hurt several other of the vets by kicking and biting before they even called me," Al sighed, "Anyways, this poor little horse is owned by an extremely rich business man, who bought it for his 4-year-old daughter."

"What's so bad about that?" Ed asked, obviously confused.

"She named him 'Lady'." Al gave a soft laugh at Ed's cringe, "Ya, well, his real name is Lady's Warrior, much more fitting. In any case, I was trying to explain to Mr. Tyler that a stallion, no matter how young, isn't something a young girl should attempt to ride. Then he started on about how anything that cost below 5,000 cen wasn't deserving of his little girl." Al grumped, "I mean, really! But thankfully the stable lad told me he took care of the colt for the most part and that Sherri only rode 'Lady' when he was in the chorale and closely watched by himself."

"No wonder…" Ed laughed lightly before standing up, "Well, you just rest. I'll make dinner tonight." As he headed towards the kitchen, he turned back to his little brother, "By the way…what do you think of taking a day off? And then going and doing something together? We don't get much time to do fun things anymore."

"Sounds good," Al said as he drifted off into a light nap.

As Colonel Mustang signed the last paper and looked up, he met the fierce eyes of the first lieutenant and flinched. "Lieutenant, please don't tell me there's _still_ more paperwork to do…"

He sighed in relief when she gave him her 'small-but-tolerant' smile and a small shake of her head, saying, "No, sir, but there is a phone call for you." When his eyebrows shot up in question, she continued, "Its General Stewart."

Roy gave her a small nod. Stewart was one of those whom he'd protected on his recertification test. "Thank-you Lieutenant. You're dismissed for the day." He returned her salute before picking up the old-fashioned black phone. "This is Colonel Mustang."

"Colonel." The voice on the other end of the line was smooth, so smooth in fact, that it was slimy. Not a voice one normally wanted to speak with. "I wanted to congratulate you on your recertification. I was highly impressed."

"Thank-you, sir." But what did the man really want to say?

"I was also wondering just why you seem so against Fullmetal recertifying." The slimy voice continued. So that's what this was about. He sighed inwardly, not really wanting to go through this whole ordeal once again.

"I'm not against it, sir. But I know for a fact that _he is_."

"How do you know this?"

"I asked, sir. Today as a matter of fact, I had a small discussion with him over the topic."

There was a silent pause before Stewart continued, "Colonel Mustang, I hear your mother if currently under investigation?"

Mustang's voice hardened, "I do. General, how is this relating to Fullmetal?"

"Well," He could almost hear the man smile, "Perhaps if Fullmetal were to recertify, due to your powerful persuasion, of course, and under a new commanding officer…it would show the Furher your loyalty to him, and the investigation would simply…disappear."

More silence. This was a threat; the only question was what would be the price for disobeying? "Well, thank-you for the advice, sir, but I have a pressing meeting to attend to, so if you'll excuse me."

"Of course. Good luck, Colonel." Click. Dial tone.

"I was supposed to be off today!" Ed growled, as he dressed in his dress uniform. It wasn't something he wore normally or even often, but when one went to see their higher ups, it was best to wear it. It made Ed feel even more ancient than he already was. The uniform actually fit him, compared to when he first joined the military when he was twelve. The blue uniform now fit him as well as the colonel's did him. And though it made him feel old, it also felt right somehow that he wear this uniform, even if he did hate it. After all, he did spend several years in the military and had been allowed way more freedom than any other soldier in his time had been.

"The colonel said this was important," Al said from the other room, "You know he wouldn't have asked you to come in for anything less than urgent."

"Like hell I do." Ed grumped as he finished buttoning his jacket on. Walking into the kitchen where Al was, Ed sighed, "This was supposed to be our day to do something fun…I'm sorry."

"Ah, don't worry, Brother," Al said as he handed his brother a piece of toast while ushering him outside of their house, "We'll do something when you get home and I'll make your favorite dinner, ok?"

Ed grinned, "Ya, thanks. Bye Al!"

Colonel Mustang looked up in surprise. It had been awhile since Ed had come to his office and even longer since he'd seen Ed in his real uniform. It really looked good on him, made him look more like an adult and less like a boy. "Good Afternoon."

"Colonel Mustang." Ed said with as much forced politeness as he could muster. And yet, it still surprised Mustang a bit that he was attempting to be nice when he'd called him on his day off. "Al said this was an emergency?"

"Hm, perhaps emergency isn't quiet right. But it most certainly is urgent." The man gestured towards the couch while he moved himself to sit on the one opposite it, "Please sit."

Ed gave a small nod before moving to sit on the couch, "What is this about, Colonel?"

Mustang poured the both cups on coffee before leaning back and giving him answer. "I want you to reconsider recertifying again."

Ed had just taken a sip of his drink and was now choking on it, "What?! _This_ is what's so damned important?"

The Colonel sighed, "Please, Ed, just hear me out?" The serious tone made Ed clam down enough to listen rather than shout at the man, "I'm not asking you to do it. I'm asking you to reconsider it."

"Why?"

"This may surprise you, but my mother, yes, I _do_ have one, is being investigated at the moment for more or less being a spy and creating some sort of illegal trade with our countries' enemies."

"What? But you're the most dedicated man in the military!" Ed growled, suddenly furious with the military.

"Thank-you, but me being one thing doesn't exclude my mother from being the other." Mustang set his cup down, "I really appreciate you being on my side, but still. And now they are hinting that if you were to recertify under another commanding officer, the charges on my mother might be dropped."

"What? Those are the two most un-related items to make a threat out of!" Ed said, pushing his own cup away, "So this is what the other day was about?"

"No. That was just the normal pressure from my recertification the other day. _This_ is much more important though. "I don't expect you to agree to recertify this moment…I'm sure you want to discuss it with Al, but I would like you to reconsider it._ Please_ ." He emphasized the last word.

It was the last word that made Ed nod, "I understand, Colonel. Can I have a few days to think about it?"

Roy nodded as they both stood up, "Of course. Also, on a side note, I was planning to visit my mother this weekend. Would you come with me?"

"You want me to meet your mom?" Ed asked, incredulously.

"Yes. I'm asking you to help her out; it's only fair you meet her before deciding what to do." Roy replied.

"Alright. Let me make sure Al'll be okay for the weekend and I'll let you know soon."

With a gratefulness so un-Mustang-like, Roy nodded, "Thank-you. You're dismissed." They saluted and Ed left to discuss his problems with Al.


	3. Chapter 4 & 5

"Your mom's _here_?" Ed stopped and demanded an explanation with a puzzled glare at Colonel Mustang. When Colonel Mustang had picked him up, Ed had been expecting a trip to the military prison at Headquarters. Instead, he was standing on the sidewalk outside one of the "officer's quarters" bungalows that stood along the south and eastern side of the sprawling training field.

"So I've been told." The Colonel met the eyes of the military policeman standing not two feet away. "We're here to visit my mother."

The man raked his eyes up and down Roy Mustang, and then Edward Elric, clearly searching for a less-than-mirror-bright button or a wrinkle in the blue uniform that Mustang wore like a second skin and made the Sergeant Major beside him look ill at ease. "I need your name, rank, registration number, and the purpose of your visit."

"Roy Mustang, Colonel, registration number 1906-8219-158," Mustang answered coolly. "Flame Alchemist." His tone managed to convey that any competent member of the military would have recognized him immediately. "I'm here to introduce the Sergeant Major to my mother."

"Why?" The MP let the word roll lazily off his tongue. He was a large, beefy man, with the green collar tabs of a member of the Fuhrer's Elite Force. He could, if he chose, arrest even the Commander of the Army in the East, and freely bait even State Alchemists.

Mustang's calm face and level voice didn't acknowledge the challenge. "When I spoke to her on the phone yesterday, she mentioned that she was bored. The Sergeant Major has led a very interesting life. I thought a visit from him might help relieve the tedium for her."

The burly man's eyebrow twitched, once, then went still. "I see." He turned to Edward. "State your name, rank--"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I'm Sergeant Major Edward Elric, I don't remember what my number is, and I'm here because the Colonel asked me to come see his mom. Are you gonna let us in or not?" Ed flexed his shoulders a little, sizing up the man. It had obviously been far too long since anyone had kicked his ass, and Ed was always ready for a quick little demonstration.

"Not without your registration number," the MP said, just a little smugly. "It's regulations. We have to keep a log of everyone who goes in or out."

"His registration's 1911-6832-154," Colonel Mustang supplied before Edward could air his opinion of regulations. "Or just put down 'FullMetal Alchemist'. Everyone in the country knows who he is."

"_You're_ FullMetal?" The guard's tone dripped with skepticism. "The guy who started the rebellion in Lior?"

Ed stiffened. "I'm the one who exposed Leto as a fraud, yeah."

"Which has nothing to do with the situation at hand," Mustang broke in crisply. "Are you going to let us in, _Captain_, or should I go write my administrative complaint to the Internal Affairs Commission?"

The captain glowered for a moment, then growled, "No weapons allowed."

"Understood." Mustang took his service revolver from the shoulder holster beneath his jacket.

"And your gloves, Flame Alchemist." The guard's expression was stony.

"So, you know who I am after all." The Colonel took his embroidered gloves from his pockets and surrendered them.

Instead of answering, the big man turned to Ed. "Your weapons, Sergeant."

"I don't carry any," Ed growled.

"If you're the FullMetal Alchemist, you've got automail."

"You're not suggesting the Sergeant Major remove his arm and leg just to visit an old woman being kept under heavy guard, are you?" Mustang's right eyebrow arched.

"Forget it," Ed snapped. "I'mi _not/i_ letting you..." he bit back several insults and continued "...make me hop around while you play with my body parts and fuck them up so my mechanic will have an excuse to beat my head in." He turned on his heel to leave before his pique overrode his better judgment and he kicked the captain where it would_ really_ hurt.

"Edward." Colonel Mustang's voice was not loud, but it halted Ed in his tracks. "Captain, I'm sure you're aware that it's not merely a nuisance, but excruciatingly painful to remove and reconnect automail. If you insist on forcing the Sergeant Major to remove his for a simple visit to cheer up a woman you're holding on hearsay and speculation, I'll be forced to give him two or three days to recover from the pain. Which means my new recruits will miss out on days of physical training that could be crucial to their survival on a battlefield. I'm not about to graduate recruits with less than perfect training—so I'd have to mention the delay in my report explaining why the latest group won't be ready for duty on time." His tone was still cool, but there was no mistaking the threat.

The Captain thought about it for a moment, just long enough to appear unintimidated by the threat, then grudgingly conceded. "All right, keep it. But no alchemy. Just talk."

"Of course." Mustang swept by the man, and Edward found himself falling in at his heels, glaring at the annoying MP but trailing his commanding officer like a dog on a leash. A burly guard in the uniform of the Military Investigations branch opened the door and surveyed them both. He didn't salute, despite the fact that he wore only a lieutenant's shoulder tabs. Instead, he just waited until both Ed and Mustang crossed the threshold, then closed the door and pointedly locked it, tucking the keys back into his pocket. The Colonel ignored the open intimidation tactic and glanced to the left. He murmured something soft in a language Ed didn't understand, then left Ed standing in the hall. Ed got only a glimpse of the woman in the living room before she was obscured by her son's taller figure. Mustang hugged his mother and said something clearly intended for her ears alone, then let go and carefully went to his knees, looking up into the face of a clearly Eastern woman. Her black hair was lightly streaked with white, though her face didn't look very old. She wore a blue wool tunic with wide sleeves over a black silk shirt with elaborately and snugly laced cuffs that reached halfway up her forearms. The tunic and her loose, flowing black pants were decorated with brightly colored silk fringe along the seams. Her shoes were a sort of ankle-high moccasin that Ed guessed she had made herself, pulling each stitch tight with her strong fingers. She wore half of her long, straight hair gathered up and clipped back with an enameled barrette accented by delicate fans of bird feathers that waved gently as she took her son's head in her hands and kissed him on the forehead.

Mustang closed his eyes, then half-turned to Ed. "Edward Elric, this is my mother. Her name is Saransetseg."

Ed stood awkwardly for a moment, just studying the woman. Ed had been under Roy Mustang's command for eight years, yet in all that time, he'd never once thought of Mustang as someone's son. Someone's baby. But his eyes were those of his mother, set a little further apart. He had her fine, pale skin. His nose was sharp where hers had soft curves, and her jaw was narrower. But as her eyes took Ed in, traveling from his bangs down his face to the collar of his uniform, Ed realized that she had given Roy more than physical traits--she had the same unnerving ability to make a person feel like she already knew all of his secrets. At Ed's bow, Saransetseg let go of her son, letting him get back to his feet.

The woman placed her palms together, and bowed to a precisely chosen angle. She said something that rose and fell in strange ways to Ed's ears, and straightened back up. Mustang translated in low tones. "Mamiya says she is honored to meet the person she has heard so much about." Ed tried to keep from fidgeting under the effect of not one but two pairs of calm, weighing dark eyes.

"Could you tell her that I'm equally honored to meet someone from such a vastly different culture?" Roy translated, and Saransetseg's eyes brightened a little in what Ed strongly suspected was amusement. She waved to the coffee table, offered a small bow, and issued another stream of quick syllables.

Mustang flashed a grin. "She's offered us both tea--and she apologizes for the inhospitality of the surroundings." He took a couch cushion and plopped it on the floor, sinking to kneel on it. "We'll have to make do with what we have on hand. You don't have to drink the whole cup of tea, FullMetal, but it would be a serious insult not to take at least a sip."

Ed nodded before coming to kneel next to Roy, then stared at the tea in disbelief as Saransetseg poured from a painfully plain teapot. The liquid was a vile bluish-purple color that Ed had only ever encountered in bruises or bubbling over lab burners. Ed gave the woman kneeling at the end of the table a hard look—had Mustang's sense of humor come from her, as well?

"Um...what type of tea is this, anyway?" He picked up the cup with careful movements and inhaled a little of the steam rising from it. The tea smelled of earth, mixed with honey and some mint Edward wasn't familiar with.

Mustang answered in an entirely matter-of-fact tone. "Pahchtreya. 'Autumn Garden', roughly translated." He took a small sip from his cup. "It's traditionally believed to help clear the mind and solve difficult problems." Ed took a small sip, decided that it didn't taste _bad_, just different. He took a second sip, then set the cup back on the table and gave Saransetseg a brilliant smile.

"So--what's it like where you live?" He directed the question toward her, despite the fact that Mustang would have to translate. It seemed only polite. Roy translated with a twitch of a grin. Saransetseg lifted an eyebrow, and offered a small smile herself as she answered, sipping her own tea. Mustang made a comment of his own to her before translating.

"Mamiya says you have probably seen many homes like hers, traveling as much as you do. She lives in a house outside Garnet Town, and her horses and sheep live in a barn made of bricks." Ed nodded encouragingly.

"Actually, that sounds more like home than a lot of places I've visited." He glanced toward his commanding officer. "What have you told her about me anyway?" Mustang grinned in that lazy, almost-mocking way that made Ed want to punch him in the mouth.

"Quite a bit. She especially liked hearing about the time you broke up the slave-prostitution ring without even knowing you were doing it." Ed grimaced.

"Yeah...well..." He turned back to Saransetseg. "I'm sorry you had to come here this way." Mustang lifted an eyebrow, but relayed Ed's comment. Saransetseg's face set into a serene, confident expression, and she answered smoothly.

Mustang translated in tones that almost rang with suppressed defiance. "Mamiya is innocent, and this is a country with fair laws. She's sure she will be released. In the meantime, she's happy to visit me--and to meet one of the clever Elric Brothers." He bent his head as his mother added something, then answered in quick words.

"Mamiya is curious about your automail." He sounded almost apologetic. "I sent her a book full of pictures, about how it works, but she wants to know whether you can do delicate things with a metal hand. She's talking about handling eggs and knitting." Ed blushed briefly at the notion of being a 'clever Elric Brother', but then frowned at the mention of his automail.

"I can handle eggs. I don't knit, but I probably could if I needed to." Then he shrugged and slipped his jacket off, revealing the dull gleam of his automail from the end of his short-sleeved uniform shirt to his wrist. For good measure, he pulled the white glove from his right hand. Saransetseg's eyes widened, and she reached to touch the back of Ed's steel hand, just running a finger over it before withdrawing. She pressed her palms together and half-bowed, looking into Ed's eyes as she talked.

Mustang watched closely as Ed tolerated the touch. "Mamiya says thank you for indulging a woman's curiosity." He paused, and frowned as his mother went on. He answered in the same language, his face and tone disapproving. Saransetseg's brows lowered a fraction, and she waved at Ed as she spoke. Mustang sighed. "She's proposing...a trade of questions, I suppose. It's a formal ritual--you both promise not to take offense at any question asked, and to either answer truthfully or refuse to answer at all. You take turns, and if one of you refuses to answer a question, whoever asked has to drop the topic, but can ask another question." He gave his mother a quelling look. "I'm not sure this is an appropriate place for it."

Ed didn't hesitate for more than an instant. "I accept."

Mustang shook his head, narrowing his eyes a little. "Are you sure you want to deal with very personal questions just for petty nosiness, FullMetal? Do I have to remind you that this house is surrounded by and full of military police who will be listening to every word you say?"

Ed narrowed his own eyes at his commander. "Yes, I do. This isn't a military matter. Besides," he clapped his hands together and let the alchemical energy crackle around himself. "I can make sure no one hears anything, and I can still refuse to answer any question." Saransetseg jumped a little, and asked a question of her son, putting a hand on his arm.

Mustang answered in low tones, patting her hand, then said in a much sharper tone, "Do you think that little stunt wouldn't be noticed? This isn't a game, FullMetal--my mother's life is at stake." Ed let the energy flow back down through him and into the earth with a hiss of disgust.

"You think I don't realize that?" He glared at Mustang and got to his feet. "She's a nice woman, but you aren't giving me the chance to find out more about the person you want me to i_\throw away my life_ for."

"Sit _down_, FullMetal." Mustang's tone carried command, but he stopped short at his mother's touch on his arm. Saransetseg got up and carefully stepped close to Ed. Their eyes were almost on a level with each other. The woman took Ed's steel hand in both of hers, opened it flat, then reached up with one hand and released her hair clip with a flick of her fingers. She put the glittering thing in Ed's palm as her hair slid free, and said something solemn. Then she turned to Roy and spoke sharply. Mustang glowered, but translated. "Mamiya says she puts the honor of her family--which for your information includes only her and me--in your hands. Letting her hair down like that means she's treating you like a brother's son."

Ed stared at the barrette for several long moments. "Thanks." He met Saransetseg's eyes, and went on. "What's her first question?" Mustang looked decidedly pissed, but he translated.

"Mamiya wants to know--Why did your brother lose so much more than you did, when your transmutation failed?" Ed stiffened.

"You mean you told her about _that,_ too?"

"Obviously. Are you going to refuse to answer?" Ed let his eyes go distant, avoiding the penetrating, inscrutable gaze of Saransetseg and the hard eyes of her son.

"No. Tell her, the only answer I can give is that Al was younger and smaller than me, so he couldn't control and deflect the energy as well as I could. Tell her my question is why she didn't want to go back to Xing."

Mustang's eyes went to slits as he repeated the question. His mother sighed, then went back the table. She ruffled her son's hair, then took his chin in her hand and talked in low firm tones for several sentences. Mustang's military demeanor gave way little by little, until he turned his eyes to Ed, and there was an almost frightening uncertainty in his face. His voice was soft and deferential. "Because her family would send her to serve the priests in a mountain temple."

"What else did she say?"

"Nothing you need to hear."

"That's not how this deal works. You can't just refuse to translate."

"You're welcome to go find someone else to pass your _personal_ questions and answers back and forth."

"Bastard." Ed glared.

"Is that a question? It's not your turn." Mustang stared back, professionally unruffled. Ed rolled his eyes. "Fine then, don't answer it. Just give me my question."

Saransetseg's eyes rested on Ed as she spoke. Her son translated without inflection. "Why didn't you wait until your brother was stronger, before you attempted a dangerous array?"

Ed sighed. "Because the longer we waited, the worse our chances of...success...got. We knew it was dangerous, but we didn't want to wait." He glanced again at the Colonel.

"Ask her what made her think Amestris would be a good place to raise her son." Mustang relayed that, though not without a twitch of a muscle along his jaw. His mother, unruffled, answered with sharp intelligence in that gaze.

Mustang growled softly. "Mamiya says, 'Because here my son has no father, but he has no grandparents either.' If this is some kind of revenge for something, Ed, I'd rather settle it outside."

Ed rolled his eyes. "She's asking nosy questions about me, so I'm asking nosy questions about her." He turned back to match Saransetseg's eyes with his own. "Her turn."

Mustang's eyebrows lifted as his mother asked her question. "My mother wants to know whether your father really is the Sage of the West. She's referring to a legend of a wise man who came out of the deserts west of Xing and more or less brought the entire country out of the Stone Age singlehandedly. For all anyone knows, Hohenheim might have been involved. The description of the Sage does have some points that could be interpreted to be Theophrastus van Hohenheim. Or almost any other six-foot man with amber eyes and brown hair."

Ed inhaled slightly. "Yes. That's him." Saransetseg murmured something, and Mustang translated in subdued tones.

"Mamiya says it can be a hard thing, to have a father so busy with public affairs."

"I wouldn't know," Ed answered gruffly. "I only met him once after he left us." Saransetseg's answer was soft and low, and Roy matched the tones as he translated.

"That's what makes it so

difficult. A son should love his father, but how can he, when he barely knows his face?" Mustang stopped short, despite the fact that his mother was still talking. Ed stared into his purple tea rather than either of the other people in the room.

"What else did she say?" Mustang didn't answer until his mother prodded his shoulder and said something in clipped tones. He sighed, and said, "She said she cannot love both her father and her son, and she chose to love her son. What's your question?"

"Why is she asking me this stuff? You know my whole life, and you've obviously told her just about all of it." Mustang didn't deny the accusation. He simply translated the question, and its answer.

"She wanted to know _how_ you would answer, more than _what_ you would say. She says your face and voice tell her you are not lying to her or to yourself." Saransetseg added something, and Mustang sighed. "Mamiya says it's not often that a man has the courage to see himself as he is, rather than as he would like to be. Ed reached for his glove, and tugged it back on. "It's not courage. I've just had enough people lie to me that I won't do it to someone else. Her question."

Saransetseg's question was an involved one. Mustang blinked, then started to answer and was waved quiet. The woman went on, then took a sip of tea, still watching Ed. Mustang took a long moment to translate. "This isn't an easy concept to translate, but to give you the idea, my mother thinks you and your brother are very old souls. In her belief system, people like you are born to move humanity back onto the right path, and that in order to do that, you have some very strange gifts, possibly even a way to talk to the ancestral spirits. Mamiya wants to know when and how you might use me to your own purposes. She wants to know whether you'll have to sacrifice me to do what you're on Earth to do."

In almost any other situation, Ed might have fallen down laughing at the absurdity of the assumption behind the question. But it was _Roy Mustang's mother_ asking, and the Colonel himself was sitting there without a twitch to indicate he saw anything funny about it. So Edward schooled himself into answering seriously. "Tell her...tell her I intend to protect both you and her. No one's going to sacrifice anything for me." Saransetseg listened intently as Roy passed on Ed's words, then looked Ed squarely in the eyes and lowered her chin. The small gesture said "Thank you" without words and without needing translation.

"Thank you, FullMetal." Mustang's words were low. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

"I don't think so." Ed got up, controlling a wince—the flesh of his left leg had gone to sleep—and offered Saransetseg's hair clip back to her. "Tell her thank you for the tea."

"You never told me you speak Xingese." There was a faint accusation in Edward's tone as he trudged along beside the colonel, but his tone was more subdued than was his custom when addressing his commanding officer.

"I don't recall your ever asking," Mustang answered with a similarly muted version of his customary unflappable arrogance.

"What else don't I know about you?" Ed demanded with a bit more vigor.

"Would you like to hear what I had for breakfast this morning?"

"Don't start with the fucking word games, bastard. You know everything worth knowing about me and Al. Now that I think about it, that's not exactly fair."

The corners of the colonel's lips lifted into a slightly mocking, somewhat grim smile. "'Fair' only exists in children's games—and not always then. I thought you'd learned that a long time ago."

Ed gritted his teeth, but answered evenly. "Fine. Call it equivalent exchange."

"You of all people should know better than to invoke _that_ phrase." Mustang's face, which had relaxed in the presence of his mother, slipped back into its neutral, noncommittal mask. He almost imperceptibly straightened his shoulders and back, and with the military bearing came the military pace. Edward found himself first lengthening his stride, then nearly trotting to keep up. Irked, he took a few quick steps and planted himself in Mustang's path, straight-arming the colonel in the chest with his right hand and fixing his eyes on the knife-sharp black ones that challenged his right to bar forward progress.

"I know better than a _lot_ of people what equivalent exchange really stands for. It's not about the science of alchemy as much as it is the responsibility of the alchemist." Ed brought his brows down low over his glaring golden eyes and spoke in quiet, measured words that all but vibrated with the leashed power of the FullMetal Alchemist. "The price isn't measured just in grams of matter or calories of heat. _That's_ the real secret—if you use alchemy to change something, you're _responsible _for the results. All of them. Turn the streets to gold, and all of a sudden people are swarming out to kill each other over the cobblestones. A few weeks later, they're killing each other because gold's so common it's not worth anything anymore. They'll probably come after the alchemist who ruined everything for them. That's equivalent exchange." Ed's eyes narrowed. "The families of alchemists pay a price, too. Just ask my mom, or my little brother. That's not _fair_, but it's equivalent. Instead of staying with his family, my old man took off to follow his research. Al and I spent what should have been our childhoods memorizing chemical equations and running all over the country risking our lives chasing a myth."

"Very eloquent, FullMetal." Colonel Mustang sidestepped Ed's hand, and moved on. "I suppose your brother helped you draft that speech."

Color ran up from below Ed's collar and flooded right up to his hairline. In a quick blur of muscle and steel, he grabbed Mustang's upper right arm in his left hand and slammed him back into the brick wall of the storefront they'd been passing. "_Damn_ you and your smart mouth, I should—wait a minute--" his eyes went to slits. "I get it. You're _trying_ to piss me off."

Mustang said nothing, though it was anyone's guess whether he kept his mouth shut because Ed had knocked the wind out of him or because he chose not to answer.

Ed waited only a few seconds, then tightened his grip on the colonel's arm, and added his steel right one to pin the other one for good measure. Mustang didn't struggle, protest, or acknowledge the eyes of the few passersby who stopped to stare at the small blond man holding a high-ranking military officer against the wall of the local watchmaker's shop. He simply focused his gaze on Ed's left pupil, and let the seconds drag by.

Ed's brows dropped still lower, and he raised his chin, resisting the colonel's silent, implacable stare. "Who are you?"

"Colonel Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist."

"I _know_ that. I also know you're a lazy bastard, you spend almost as much time chasing skirts as you do listening to reports from your spies, you're right-handed, and you can't throw a straight kick to save your life."

"Sounds like you know me pretty well." The Flame Alchemist was paradoxically a master of the cool put-off.

"As the arrogant pain in the ass who lured a twelve-year-old into joining the military and then used him as a lightning rod for four straight years, yeah." Ed's glare softened a bit, into that combination of resentment and overwhelming curiosity that only Ed could muster. "But I just met your mother, and now I wonder--she's Xingese—how'd she end up here?"

"And why should I let you invade her privacy and mine?"

"How about because if you don't start talking I'll kick some of your teeth down your throat?"

"You can do better than a simple threat of violence, FullMetal."

Ed frowned. "I could turn every file in your office into confetti."

"And risk Hawkeye's wrath? You're a braver man than me. Suicidally stupid, but brave."

The frown became a low growl. "Dammit, I _trust_ you, okay? I've trusted you since you walked into Granny Pinako's. How about you trust me a little?"

Mustang didn't answer immediately, but a hint of respect lifted his eyebrows a fraction. "Better. A few more decades and you might be competent to haggle with a farmer at a fruit stand."

"Quit changing the subject, Mustang."

"Quit demanding friendship with your fists, Elric."

Ed's eyes widened a little, and he let go, taking a step back. He watched Colonel Mustang straighten his jacket and tug his sleeves back into place. Ed's eyes traveled from one neatly-pressed cuff up the blue-clad arm and across the so-familiar starred shoulder tab to the bulwark of the starched jacket collar, with its gates of matching silver collar tabs. Above that wall of military formality rode a face that also hid any number of secrets. Its narrow black brows and thin-lipped mouth barred entry to the mind behind those well-trained dark eyes.

Ed took another step back. "I thought I knew you pretty well, but I just realized I don't know anything more than the girls in the typing pool. Less—they at least probably know how you take your coffee." He turned and stalked off.

A longer stride caught up with Ed half a block later. "Two sugar, no cream."

"What?"

"That's how I take my coffee. The cream at Headquarters is almost always sour."

"I've noticed." Ed paused for a moment, then shrugged and walked on. "You'd think that if the military could move an army across the country without losing a single bullet, it could at least get fresh cream for the coffee."

"Bullets don't go sour after two days. Not that I would care to find one in my coffee."

"Beats some of the things Al leaves lying around sometimes. I swear, I'm gonna get him a refrigerator just for his specimens for his birthday."

"I'm sure he'd be delighted to receive it."

"How about you?"

"Hm?"

"When's your birthday?"

Mustang didn't answer immediately. He slid his gaze toward Edward for a few steps.

"Hey, if it's too personal a question, I'll just ask Hawkeye or Havoc or something," Ed said in disgust. "Shit, excuse _me_ for thinking you were actually gonna trust me with something more than a mission briefing."

"My personnel file lists my birthday as May 18, 1885," Mustang said quietly. "But that's not entirely accurate. All I know is that it was the spring of that year."

"You don't know what day you were born? What, didn't your mom ever tell you?"

"She doesn't know either." Mustang's lips tightened a fraction.

Ed's brows drew together. "Were you born in prison or something?"

Mustang let out a short bark of laughter. "No."

"You could just _tell_ me instead of playing stupid guessing games."

The colonel took a few more strides to answer. "My mother was the daughter of a northern Xingese merchant family. She's never told me what her family name was." He let his eyes flick to a young couple pushing a baby carriage down the opposite sidewalk, and waited until they were out of earshot before continuing. "Her parents had arranged a marriage for her—her wedding was planned for the winter of the year she turned sixteen. She had met the boy she was supposed to marry, and liked him." Mustang went on in an unemotional tone, as if delivering a report. "Unfortunately for her, Utar raiders attacked the town and carried her off when she was fifteen. The man who took her was twice her age, and already married. He kept her as a concubine, and I was the result. In Utar society, a child born to a non-Utar mother is the 'son of a wild horse'." Mustang turned his head enough to look Ed straight in the eyes. "So you see, FullMetal, when you call me a bastard, you're only literally translating my name."

Mustang left Ed at a crossroads in more than one sense. He'd paused at the foot of the wide boulevard that led up into his neighborhood, and offered to keep Ed company the rest of the way home.

"No, thanks. I need to think for a while."

"I'll be in touch." And Colonel Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist, had strode off up the hill, leaving his mother's fate in Ed's hands.

Ed could have caught a bus the rest of the way home. He could have detoured back toward the commercial district and hailed a taxi. Instead, he put his hands in his pockets and walked, brooding.

"I told her I'd protect both of them," he muttered, watching his boots move forward in a determined, unyielding rhythm. "Whatever it takes." Step, step, step. "But I'm not dragging Al into it this time. I'm gonna have to do it myself." Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. "Dammit, why me? I haven't done more than warm up dinner in years!" He scowled, oblivious to the stares of the passersby—some of whom quickly crossed the street to avoid the compact blonde man who had taken his hands from his pockets and was pounding one fist into the opposite palm as he talked to no one.

Ed growled in frustration and kicked a can lying on the sidewalk. It bounced and rattled along the concrete, making a satisfyingly loud and irritating racket. "I'm gonna have to tell Al. He's not gonna be happy. But he's not going down with me. I won't let him." He picked up his head and set his jaw. "That's i_my/i_ price. Colonel Bastard is going to keep Al from doing anything stupid."

Ed turned a corner and started working his way uphill. "Al will understand. If I don't help her, I'll be sentencing the woman to death. Al knows I can't let that happen." He kicked the can with his left leg, watched the can tumble through the air and land ten feet in front of him. "It's gonna really suck. I'll have to quit my real job. And find a tutor." Ed gave the can one last hard kick, and sent it skittering across the street to the opposite curb. "Damn you, Mustang—you just had to fuck up my life again, didn't you? Bastard." He narrowly avoided an elderly lady who was eyeing him curiously as he continued to talk to himself.

"But Mustang's a good alchemist even if he is one hell of a bastard…" Ed hesitated, "No, I can't call him that anymore. Cause he really is one. And it's not like I i_mean/i_ it like that or anything." Ed's voice was raised now to a normal talking level and more people stared as he continued walking.

"I need a new nickname for a jerk-off commanding officer." Ed scratched his head in thought, ignoring the blatant stares and murmurs he received. "'Jerk-off' isn't enough. Nor is 'asshole'." Ed flailed in frustration, attracting more attention, as he realized he couldn't really think of anything else to call Mustang, "Are you **kidding** me? Do I really have to just call him by name?!" Ed's face was flushed as he noticed how just about everyone on the street had stopped to stare at the young male screaming at himself. "Er…sorry…" Ed mumbled. He shoved his hands back in his pockets and hurried home, looking neither left nor right.

**Ishbalan Murderer Strikes Again**, read the headline. Al scanned through the story, and carefully circled it with a red marker. He folded the newsprint so the red ink stood out, then reached for the next paper.

The moment Ed had left the house that morning, Al had hurried through caring for his animals, then ransacked the house for the papers that arrived on the doorstep every morning and only rarely got thrown out. Not that either brother actually i_read_/i the paper, but Al hadn't been able to resist the pleading look of the paper boy who'd come selling subscriptions, and the newsprint made decent bedding for wounded animals. It had taken until almost lunch time to find every paper in the house, and the better part of the afternoon to winnow out the sections he wanted from the sports, gossip, and advertising pages.

**Alchemist Killer Strikes Again**. Al circled the story, and then made a neat note of the date on the map he'd sketched. The Amestrian countryside was crisscrossed with penciled lines and notes in red marker.

i_Al crouched in the center of a circle thirty feet wide and complicated enough to strain the control of a battalion of alchemists. Ed stood just outside the circle, screaming at Al to __move,__ to get out of the way, but Al just stayed there with his metal palms pressed against the brightly-glowing lines. He could hear the terror in his brother's voice, but there was no stopping now. He lifted his head and met the blood-red eyes of the man who would have destroyed them both, and for an instant, he saw compassion wavering just beneath the impassive mask of the Scar of Ishbal. Ed screamed, and Al looked down to see the metal of his hands start to dissolve into the blue-white fire of the array._ /i

**'Scar' Spotted in Lior**. Al made some more notes on his map.

_"You were dreaming about the night you brought me back, weren't you?"_

"_It was only a nightmare, Al." Ed hugged him, and stroked his hair out of his eyes. "I'm fine. Go back to sleep."_

"_I wish you'd just __**tell**__ me, Edward. It's horrible when you wake up screaming and I don't even know what you saw."_

"_Don't worry about it. Just rest, Al."_

**Scar Thwarted in New Optain Attack**, **Probably Heading South**_._

_Even had Al wanted to stop the transmutation, he wouldn't have. Ed—Ed had designed the array, he could __feel__ it in the lines, in the way the power surged into the array, then flowed in a barely-controlled torrent into the runes. Ed hadn't meant him to initiate this transmutation. He'd meant to do it himself. To sacrifice himself so Al could be whole. Al couldn't look directly at the circle, so he didn't know what it was doing to him exactly. But Ed was still screaming as Al continued to dissolve. The last thing Al saw before the memory ended in a wash of white-hot light was Scar's arm. Its tattoos glowed the same bright red as molten iron, and they cast an eerie light up onto the hard planes of the killer who had chosen to help two people his God had condemned._

_**Search Expands for Wounded Ishbalan Murderer-- "Probably Dead" Says Head of Rescue Effort.**_

_**Scar Spotted Moving East**_

Al drew some more lines on his map, then sat back and followed the patterns with his eyes. "I know where you're going," he said softly.

It was dark by the time Edward returned back to the Elric household. Not that he'd meant to stay out that late, but having opted to not take the bus or hail the cab when he'd had the chance meant he had no chance of getting home before 8 o'clock. "Al! I'm home!" He called into the house, though he didn't really need to. There were some delicious smells coming from the kitchen…and some brief scuffling and rustling of papers.

"I'm cooking dinner. Your favorite!" Al called back, trying to cover the sounds of the newspapers as he shoved them on top of the fridge. Ed didn't tend to look up at anything there since he still had trouble reaching it on his own.

"Sounds good," Ed entered the kitchen just as Al turned back to the stove. "What're you up to that you have to butter me up?" The only time Al made his favorite dish of noodles and meat sauce happened to be when Al wanted something from him, or something hidden from him.

Al turned to his elder brother with a dark frown, "Absolutely nothing. I can't just make you something nice? I figured since we didn't get to do much today like we promised, then I could at least let us enjoy dinner."

"Oh." Ed said, with a small bit of doubt, "Okay, then. Will it be ready soon?"

"Yes, so if you'll set the table…" Al didn't need to finish before Ed went about gathering two plates and some silverware and setting them on the table. In that time, Al managed to finish the last touches to the meat sauce while Ed made himself comfortable at the table. Having served both of them fair amounts of both noodles and meat sauce, Al set the pot back on the stove before joining Ed at the table.

Ed, naturally, began eating at once. But Al was not Ed, and had still retained enough of a religious system that he gave private thanks to whomever and whatever had let them have this food before he dug in with his own famous Elric eating ability.

It wasn't until Al brought out the apple pie that Ed was suspicious once more of the younger alchemists' intentions. "Are you sure there isn't something you're hiding?" Ed asked with doubt as the pie was set on the table and Al cut into it.

Al lifted a piece of the pie onto Ed's plate before responding, "I'm not hiding anything." The conviction that Al said this with was proof that either Al truly was up to something or Ed was being outrageous. Since Ed wasn't sure which to take it as, he decided to opt for a change of subject.

"I've come to a decision about this whole mess with Mustang's mother." Al perked up over his own pie. "Oh?"

Ed took a deep breath and sat back from the now empty plate, "I'm going to recertify. She's a good woman and doesn't deserve any suffering because of my own selfishness of wanting to stay out of the military. She asked me to protect her family. And I intend to."

Al smiled, "I'm proud of you, brother. Just be careful. I'm going to suppose you have your own requests in this deal?"

"First off, you stay out of it. This has nothing to do with you. I want you to stay clear of this whole ordeal, got it?" Al looked ready to fight the point until he met Ed's eyes, with a sigh he nodded, so Ed continued, "I'm going to need a tutor for the exam. I haven't taken it in a long time. Since Mustang got me into this mess, i_he's/i_ going to do it." When Ed nodded again, "And I won't leave Mustang's command. If those controlling assholes want control over me, then they can go through him to do it."

"It sounds like you've got it all figured it out." Al agreed. Al wasn't fighting Ed about it, and it rather frightened Ed. Al was just as much against the State Alchemists as Ed was, so why wasn't he arguing about his own brother rejoining the ranks?

As Al started to clear off the table, Ed got the answer to his question, "Ed, can we talk for a bit?" The soft tone, the use of his name and not 'brother', all added up to the fact that Ed should i_not_/i have this discussion, but Ed couldn't deny his brother much. "Okay. What's up?"

Taking off the apron he wore to cook in, Alphonse turned back to Ed, his eyes lit up with an unnatural ferocity for the younger Elric brother. It scared Ed and he knew he'd made a mistake by agreeing to this conversation. "How'd you get my body back, Ed?"

Fuck. This was definitely not what Ed wanted to talk about. Not now…not ever! "Why does it matter, Al? It's over with. It doesn't matter. We can't change what's been done." Ed couldn't hide the tremble in his voice and that spurred Al on.

"I want to know why you wake up screaming in the middle of the night, why you won't just tell me what happened, why I can't remember, and why this is the one thing you've kept hidden from me." Al voice held a tone of bitter resentment at the last fact.

"I want us to move away from that incident, Al. It's over with. We don't _ineed/i_ to talk about it anymore. It's gone and done. We can live a normal life."

"With you being a State Alchemist again? That seems highly doubtful at this time, Ed." Al's arms were crossed angrily and he glared at his brother.

"Al...I don't even really remember what happened. It's a blur for me, too." Ed tried but Al could see straight through it.

"If it was just a blur then why do you wake up crying, screaming, and needing to make sure I'm there…that I'm alive? For God's sake, Ed, just _tell_ me so I can stop _wondering_." Al reasoned, though it was pretty pointless to try on the older Elric.

"No." Ed's voice changed from tremble to stern. "I can't tell you, Al. And if I could, I wouldn't. Because it's the past and that's where it should stay." He stood up in a flash of golden hair. "I want you to stop asking because I can't tell you and I won't tell you. Good night, Al." Ed growled before turning and leaving the younger Elric brother alone in the kitchen.

"If that's all you'll tell me, then I'll have to find out for myself." Al cursed silently as he looked up at the only somewhat hidden newspaper. Yes, he'd find Scar and get his answer no matter how much Ed disliked it.

Alchemical lightning. Flashes of Edward screaming. Scar's tattoo lighting up with the array. Pain and crying. Being dragged i_somewhere_/i and then being dragged back and the unfamiliar weight of a _body_. Edward gone. Edward there. Scar…gone. More pain. Then nothing but blackness.

Al woke with a shout, his breath short and harsh and there are tears running that he couldn't remember starting to run. Ed is standing over him, holding a damp cloth to his head making soothing sounds. "Are you okay?" His voice was soft and obviously worried.

Al grabbed Ed's hand and pulled it away from his brow to glare up at his elder brother. "Ed, tell me what happened at the Gate." Ed frowned and pulled his hand from Al's. "I have to know. Not knowing scares me more than knowing ever will. It can't be worse than not knowing. Ed, please." Al muttered as he sat up some, trying to scrub away his tears.

Ed bit his bottom lip and turned away from his younger brother sitting on the edge of the bed. "I can't do that, Al."

"Brother," Al rested his hand on Ed's left shoulder, "I need to know what happened. You can't keep it from me forever; it is part of my life as much as yours."

"No, this is _my_ burden. Not yours. I won't let you be pulled down by my mistakes Al. No more. It's bad enough that you had to spend so many years in armor. I'm not going to give you more horrible things to remember." He pulled away from Al to stand up.

"It's not fair of you to keep this entire burden for yourself! It's my pain too, Ed!" He growled angrily at Ed, who seemed to freeze in his spot for a moment.

"You have no idea what you're talking about, Al. I won't tell you." Ed moved and was out of the room. Within minutes, Al hears the door to their front yard open and slam shut. Ed's gone off to walk, as is his custom when angry.

Al sighed heavily and sank back into the blankets, curling up. Now, more than ever, Al was ready to go find the answers he so desperately needed.

Ed had returned the next morning, saying absolutely nothing to Al as he quickly walked upstairs. Moments later the sound of rushing water met his ears and Al knew that Ed was taking a hot shower. Perhaps he'd walked around all night. Maybe he'd gone to stay in a hotel. Or even worse, maybe he'd slept in some dark alley way. Ed never discussed where he went on his walks to Al and Al had given up asking about it years ago when he'd started doing it while on their search for the Stone.

Al went about and fed the dog and cats and was sitting with a calico kitten on the floor, playing, when Ed stopped by the doorway. If he'd slept, it didn't show, though he was dressed in his military uniform. "Where are you going?" Al asked the obvious question.

"Mustang's office. I told him I'd let him know my decision as soon as I could." Ed's tone was quiet and didn't leave room for Al to ask any more questions. "I'll be home for dinner." Ed didn't say much else before he was out the door, the sound of keys jingling as he walked outside and towards their single car.

It took a total of thirty minutes for Edward to drive all the way to East City's HQ office, park the car, and make his way to Mustang's office. The hallways of people seemed to split for him. That wasn't unusual though. Ed had managed to keep his reputation even though his alchemy usage had diminished quite a bit.

Upon entering the small room that led to Roy Mustang's office, Ed stopped shortly to give a hearty salute to Lieutenant Hawkeye, waiting for the return, before addressing the overly calm woman. "Lieutenant, is the Colonel currently busy?"

Hawkeye met his calm stare; she'd obviously been told that Ed might be visiting since she seemed so deadpan, "Not with anything that can't wait, I'm sure. Go ahead in, Edward."

"Thank-you Lieutenant." Ed saluted again before stepping off into the other room, not knocking as he'd always done, but more polite than he'd ever managed as a fifteen year old.

The Lieutenant had been right when he wasn't busy with anything that couldn't wait. Making paper airplanes with Jean Havoc did seem like it could wait a few more minutes before being finished. Havoc hissed, obviously not having seen Ed, "You're cheating! You're using your alchemy to lift the damn things!" He turned towards the door and noticed Ed, "Oh. Hey Chief."

"Lieutenant." Ed nodded to him once, "Would you mind leaving? I need to talk to the Colonel." The second lieutenant jumped up and quickly departed and Ed was faced with Roy, looking slightly annoyed that his childish play had been interrupted.

"Hello, Sergeant Major. What's so important that couldn't wait?" The Colonel sat behind his desk, all traces of paper airplanes shoved somewhere underneath. He waited with his chin perched on his steepled hands, waiting for Ed's reply.

"I've decided to reCertify." Edward replied, approaching the desk.

"Oh?" Obviously Ed had more to say, and Roy would wait for it to be said.

"There are conditions."

"I assumed as much. Go on." His hands remained steepled as Ed set his hands on the desk to stare him down.

"First, I stay under _your_ command. I won't trust anyone else not to try and misuse me." Ed waited, but when Mustang didn't reply, Ed continued, "Secondly, I want you to tutor me. You're the only living master of open-atmosphere alchemy in Amestris, which is one of the few alchemical disciplines I didn't study when I was younger." He pushed up and away from the desk and turned his back, folding his arms across his chest. "You're also less likely to surprise me with hideous abuses of alchemy than the tutor I had the first time I Certified." He turned back to Mustang and planted both hands on the Colonel's desk. "And I want the military to i_leave Al alone_/i. If anyone from the military calls my brother, outside of your staff looking for me, I'll walk, and you can find someone i_else/i_ to save your ass."

A long silence begun and was only ended by Roy's sigh as he sat back in his chair, looking at Ed, "The first condition I cannot promise. I will keep you under my command for as long as possible without further risking my mother or yourself."

"Fine. I can deal with that."

Roy steepled his hands again, frowning, "The second is a bit more difficult. There is some things I could teach you about my type of alchemy, but that's all I could do. There's a lot I don't even know. There's only one person who does, and I highly doubt she'd be willing to give anyone more information than she's already given me." Ed raised an eyebrow but didn't question, so Roy continued, "As for the third. I'll let it be known to the higher ups and see what I can do. It shouldn't be a problem, though."

Ed's relief was obvious when his shoulders slumped slightly and his eyes brightened a bit more. "Then, I want to start training as soon as possible. The next certification test isn't for three months, but I want to be prepared for it."

"That's a wise choice, Edward." Roy remarked, sitting back up to study a calendar hidden under the papers on his desk. "We can start on Friday, if you like. After I get off work, we'll go and visit the Armstrong estate."

Ed frowned, "Why would we go there to practice alchemy?"

"It's spacey for one, so there's no chance of you accidently killing people. Or less of a chance, in any case. Secondly, people aren't nearly as likely to come and look at what you're doing."

"Alright, I guess that makes sense." Ed relaxes a fraction more before softly asking, "How's your mother doing?"

Roy let his mask slip slightly with a small smile, "She's fine. Thank-you for asking." The mask fell back on as Hawkeye knocked once before coming in to hand Mustang another stack of papers.

"Sir. General Takeda is on line one for you." The Colonel raised an eyebrow slightly before nodding.

"Thank-you Lieutenant." He said in way of dismissal. As soon as Leiutenant Hawkeye had left the room, the Colonel picked up the phone and answered it with a short, "Colonel Mustang."

"Ah, Colonel. I heard FullMetal had come in to see you." General Takeda's sleezy voice filtered through.

"The Sergeant Major is here, yes, sir." Roy replied calmly.

"Has he told you weather he's decided to recertify?"

"Yes. He's agreed." He glanced up and Edward who was waiting expectantly.

"Wonderful news!" The man sounded truly happy about it. That scared Roy Mustang more than anything else. "I'll be sure to be at the exams then."

"I'm sure the Srgt. Major will be delighted to hear so, sir."

"Was there anything else, Colonel?"

"There are some…conditions that are necessary for the Srgt. Major to make it to the exam."

"Make them happen, Mustang. Write them in a report and send it to my office with the First Lieutenant." The distinct click was made that meant the General and hung up the phone. Roy set the phone down carefully, looking at it as if it might explode.

"Well? What did he say?" Ed prompted in a frustrated manner when the Colonel remained quiet.

"He says the conditions are fine, no matter what they are." He gave Ed a strange look, "It makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

Ed was quiet as he thought about it. Why was Takeda so interested in having the FullMetal Alchemist back? "Yes. But it's not a big deal right now." In other words, they'd discuss it when there were less chances of being over heard. "I should get back home. Al's been acting weird lately and I'd rather not piss him off further."

"I'll see you Friday, then." With that, Ed saluted and left the office, heading back to the Elric household.


End file.
